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Stay strong, Bailey.
I take a deep breath, forcing my mind back into its logical state. But as fate would have it, my eyes drift back to Logan and his devastatingly handsome smile.
This is going to be harder than I thought.
8
LOGAN
Back at my penthouse, I pour a glass of whiskey and stare out at the city lights. The night replays in my mind, Bailey's laughter still in my ears. Seeing her outside of the office walls, in an environment that wasn't centered around deadlines and numbers, felt like a treat. Her laughter, it was... contagious, pure, and it made me feel something I haven't felt in a long time.
Happiness? Or maybe it was the alcohol.
Bailey... man... she's a fucking fortress. Armored walls fifteen feet high, a world-class security system, and a moat filled with self-righteousness. She thinks she's too damn good for everyone, myself included. It's getting under my skin, this constant need of hers to keep everyone out, to act like she's immune to the world.
She doesn't know that she's dealing with Mr. Defensive himself.
I'm no better, with my own walls, but at least I admit it.
Why do I want to chase her?
She's not even my type.
At all.
I mean, I've always liked a challenge, but she's... more than that.
She's like a fucking Rubik's cube... one that doesn't want to be solved.
I take a sip from my glass, the amber liquid burning a trail down my throat.
"She needs to let those damn walls down," I mutter to nobody.
But is she even capable of that?
I take another sip and my thoughts continue to trail.
And damn, that dress she was wearing... I swear it was designed to torment me. It clung to every curve of her body. From that little dip at her waist to the flare of her hips, it was like a well-fitted glove. I couldn't help but imagine my hands all over those curves, tracing lines on her skin.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't trying to imagine what lay beneath that dress.
Her amber hair, usually pulled up in a bun, was loose tonight. It fell over her shoulders in soft waves, begging to be touched. It made me think of lazy Sunday mornings.
When that comedian started making dirty jokes, my thoughts kept drifting to Bailey. I thought about the innocence she has been doing her best to hide behind, but I know fucking better. I can see the fire in her eyes, the devilish sparkle that is begging to come out and play.
I take a last sip of my whiskey, trying to shake off the thoughts. But the image of her in that dress, with her loose curls and that damned sexy figure, is hot in my mind.
I put my glass away and walk to my bedroom. The buzz of the whiskey does nothing to quiet the thoughts of her in my mind. I close my eyes and the image of Bailey, under the bar lights, laughing, projects onto the back of my eyelids.
Damn it, she's everywhere.
I give up and surrender to sleep, knowing that she'll probably invade my dreams, too.
* * *
The next day at work,I decide to stay late. Bailey has been out of the office all day, at work meetings with my dad, and I'm working on a massive project. It's the first opportunity for me to show my fucking initiative around here.
The project involves the acquisition of a small, yet powerful tech startup. It requires me to be a bridge, between corporate bureaucracy and innovative energy.
